


What you left

by MalenkayaCherepakha



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, M/M, Sad Ending, the mcd happens before the fic starts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 09:39:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18990091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalenkayaCherepakha/pseuds/MalenkayaCherepakha
Summary: Dear Mr. Malfoy, the letter began.May I begin by extending my deepest condolences on the death of Mr. Potter. It is a great loss for all of wizardkind, and an even greater one for those who knew him personally.I am writing to you today to inform you that Mr. Potter left you a bequest in his will; the key to Vault 467 at Gringotts. I do not know what the vault contains.The key is currently in my possession, but if you would like to retrieve it, please do visit my offices at your earliest convenience.My deepest sympathies once again,Yours sincerely,Mr. Alexander StewartDraco didn’t understand. Why would Harry leave him the key to his vault?





	What you left

**Author's Note:**

> The wonderful Prolix prompted this, and I couldn't resist writing it. 
> 
> Thank you so much to Goldfwish for beta'ing this for me.

Draco hadn’t really begun to process it all when the owl arrived.

He’d been numb ever since he’d read the article in the Daily Prophet, since he’d seen the photo of Harry taking up the whole front page accompanied by the terrible words ‘Harry Potter Dies aged 55.’ 

He just hadn’t been able to understand it. How could Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Head Auror and darling of Britain, be dead?

The loud clattering of the owl landing on his dining table shook him out of the daze he’d been walking around in for the past two days. The owl held out its leg, and Draco slowly took the letter that was addressed to him.

He very nearly didn’t read it. He just wasn’t interested in anything anyone had to say, didn’t want to hear any more bland platitudes from Blaise or Pansy, or read any more simpering letters from journalists asking for his take on the story. 

He was about to throw the letter on top of the ever-increasing pile of post he was ignoring when he caught sight of the return address. The letter was from an exclusive wizarding solicitor in London.

Sinking down on to a dining chair, Draco stared at the letter for a long moment before shakily opening it. He read the letter twice, his brain too foggy to take in the meaning of the words at first.

_Dear Mr. Malfoy_ , the letter began.

_May I begin by extending my deepest condolences on the death of Mr. Potter. It is a great loss for all of wizardkind, and an even greater one for those who knew him personally._

_I am writing to you today to inform you that Mr. Potter left you a bequest in his will; the key to Vault 467 at Gringotts. I do not know what the vault contains._

_The key is currently in my possession, but if you would like to retrieve it, please do visit my offices at your earliest convenience._

_My deepest sympathies once again,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Mr. Alexander Stewart_

Draco didn’t understand. Why would Harry leave him the key to his vault? Why would he choose Draco of all people to clear through whatever he’d left in there? 

He could feel his mind waking up for the first time in days, the mystery of the vault providing him with some motivation to do something other than sit alone in his house. 

Draco checked the time and, reassured that it was still within reasonable business hours, picked up the letter and apparated to the address written on it. 

The solicitor’s office was in a modern building in the centre of Muggle London, and clearly catered to a certain calibre of clients. It was all glass and modern art, the tasteful signs of quiet, confident wealth. Draco could feel his stomach flipping over with anxiety as he made his way to the front desk, and he only just managed to resist the urge to turn around and walk straight back out of the building. 

The quiet hush of the waiting room the receptionist led him to didn’t help Draco’s nerves at all, the silence only allowing the thoughts racing through his mind to increase in volume. 

He didn’t know if he could do this.

What if it was all a mistake? Maybe Harry hadn’t meant for Draco to get the key, and if he hadn’t then Draco would be intruding if he went to the vault. 

But if he had meant for Draco to get the key, then what did that mean? What was Harry trying to say to him?

By the time the office door opened and a smartly suited gentleman called out his name, Draco was nearly hyperventilating, tears threatening to spill over and his stomach churning. The numbness was well and truly gone, but Merlin, he wished he could have it back, if it meant he wouldn’t have to feel this. 

‘Mr Malfoy?’ Mr Stewart was repeating, a concerned look on his face. ‘Are you alright?’

‘Yes, yes I’m fine,’ Draco said, doing his best to shake off the grief that had overwhelmed him. He shakily stood and walked into the office, gratefully taking the seat facing the sleek glass desk. 

‘I take it you’re here for the key Mr Potter left you?’ the solicitor said.

Draco just nodded, the lump in his throat preventing him from getting any words out.

‘Well, here it is,’ Mr Stewart said, sliding a big brass key across the table to Draco. ‘I just need you to sign this form and then the key is yours.’

Once the form was signed, Draco looked at the key. Taking a deep breath, he reached out and touched it, gently putting it in his pocket. 

Draco didn’t go the vault straight away. Instead he went home, the idea of going to Gringotts simply too overwhelming to even consider. 

He hadn’t been sleeping well ever since he found out about Harry. Every night he would close his eyes and only see Harry, endless images of Harry running through his mind, leaving him shaking and gasping for air, face covered in tear tracks. 

That night was no different, the usual images interspersed with visions of keys, and vaults, and various objects that might be waiting for him there. Draco woke often, struggling to fall back asleep each time. By the time the clock showed 7am, he had been awake for several hours. He was still in bed, curled on his side, hugging his knees to his chest in a vain attempt to hold himself together. The rays of sunshine creeping across the carpet brought the slightest hint of relief, a sign of another night survived. 

Draco knew he had to go the vault that morning, knew he would get no peace until he found out what it contained. Summoning the tiny shred of energy he could find, body aching and mind fuzzy from his disrupted night’s sleep, he forced himself out of bed so that he could go to Gringotts. His appetite was still nonexistent, the very idea of trying to eat anything making him feel like he was about to throw up, and so he skipped breakfast, heading straight out to Diagon Alley. 

He found himself stood in front of the door to Harry’s vault with no recollection of how he got there. His head was foggy and he felt as though he might faint at any second, his trembling legs barely able to hold him up. 

He was suddenly terrified to go in. What if it had all been a mistake? If he walked in to find an empty vault rather than… He didn’t even know what he was hoping to find in the vault. A message from Harry? A sign of some kind? Something, anything to let him know that he hadn’t dreamed it, that it had meant as much to Harry as it had to him?

Tentatively, Draco took a step forwards.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light in the vault, he felt tears begin to well up. 

The vault was full of boxes, all labelled in Harry’s heartbreakingly familiar scrawl.

Draco slowly spun around, reading the labels on the boxes nearest to him.

_Quidditch..._

_Hogwarts…_

_Grimmauld Place..._

_Sirius…_

_Ginny…_

_Godric’s Hollow…_

_James Sirius…_

_Albus Severus…_

_Lily Luna…_

_Draco…_

The tears were flowing freely now, Draco unable to stop them tracking down his cheeks and dropping onto his shirt as he took in the boxes containing Harry’s life. 

Harry hadn’t just left Draco a key, a vault; Harry had left him everything he had treasured in life.

Draco sank to the floor, knees finally giving way, and sobbed. He let himself cry properly for the first time, let the grief wash over him and claim him.

Harry, his Harry, was gone. 

Really and truly gone.

Draco would have to live the rest of his life knowing that Harry Potter was no longer in the world, knowing that Harry had died without Draco at his side where he belonged. 

Draco didn’t know how long he sat there, on the cold hard Gringotts floor, letting his loss pour out of him. All the pain he had been suppressing since he heard the news rose to the surface, the numbness that he had wrapped around himself like a protective blanket disappearing completely. 

Eventually the tears began to slow, and Draco was able to hesitantly pull one of the boxes over to him. 

He didn’t start with the box labelled _Draco_. His heart wasn’t ready for that. He didn’t know if it ever would be. 

Instead, he opened one of the boxes with _Hogwarts_ written on it. As he pulled out quills, and textbooks, and robes, Draco began to realise how mistaken he’d been when he’d decided that Hogwarts would be an easy place to start. 

He picked up Harry’s school jumper, gently playing with the fraying cuffs, a mark of Harry’s inability to sit still, of his need to keep his hands busy at all times. He remembered how Harry had looked at age 11, at 14, at 16. A rush of shame and a sense of missed opportunity swept over him as he looked back on the arguments and jibes that had characterised their relationship back then. 

As he ran Harry’s Gryffindor tie through his fingers, he was taken back to those years he had spent so deeply buried in denial. Years pretending to hate Harry’s guts when all he had wanted to do was grab Harry by the tie and drag him into a dark alcove. Years of pretending that Harry wasn’t the one he thought about late at night when he was hidden behind the curtains surrounding his bed. Merlin, they’d been so stupid. 

The next box he opened was labelled _Grimmauld Place_. Draco steeled himself, knowing this one was going to hurt.

The first thing he pulled out of the box made a rush of pain hit him like a punch in the gut. To anyone else, it would have been just a t-shirt, soft and stretched from overuse. No one else would know why Harry had kept it, why it was deserving of a place in this vault full of precious memories.

But Draco knew. 

He felt himself start to tear up again even while a small smile appeared on his face as he remembered the night he had first seen Harry wear this top. That night had changed his life forever. 

It was the summer he turned 20, a summer that followed a year characterised by uncertainty and lack of direction. His community service was finished, his crimes pardoned, his future wide open and terrifying. It was the summer he first ventured out to the gay bars of Muggle London, attempting to find somewhere he belonged. 

He spent the whole summer dancing and drinking in those bars, overjoyed to have found a place that felt like home, where he could be who he truly was. His future became something to look forward to rather than to fear, his mind racing with the possibilities that were now revealing themselves to him.

And then, that fateful night. The night where he had looked up and locked eyes with none other than Harry Potter, who was staring at Draco as he danced. 

He could still remember how that t-shirt had felt when he had twisted his hand in it as they danced, pressed tightly up against each other. How he had reached under it, fingers dancing across smooth skin and muscles, the feel of Harry’s skin igniting a fire in his veins. How that t-shirt had looked thrown on his floor as he pulled it off Harry in a rush of lust, only breaking away from their kiss for the seconds it took to remove it. 

Draco stroked the t-shirt reverently, memories of all the times he had seen Harry wear it racing through his mind. Harry had worn it regularly after that first night, shooting Draco mischievous looks each time, knowing the effect it had on him. The t-shirt still held a faint trace of the aftershave Harry had used that year, Draco bringing it up to his nose to inhale greedily, the smell reminding him of stolen afternoons ensconced in Harry’s bed, of the way Harry’s smell would surround him when Draco pressed his face into the crook of Harry’s neck as they moved together. 

But that happy time hadn’t lasted.

Draco gently set the t-shirt aside, running his hand over it one last time, before he moved over to the series of boxes that represented the life Harry had left him for; _Ginny… James Sirius… Albus Severus… Lily Luna…_

A wedding photo was the top item in the _Ginny_ box. Harry was beaming as he looked at Ginny, who looked stunning in her long white dress, eyes full of love as she looked up at her new husband. A tear splashed onto the photo as Draco once again mourned the things he’d never had with Harry. Harry had tried to deny it, had tried to insist that he was happy with the casual relationship he and Draco had, but Draco had known that deep inside Harry there was a burning desire for more. For marriage, for children, for family. 

For all the things Draco couldn’t give him.

And so Draco had sacrificed himself, his desires, his love for Harry, and had let him go. Let him be free to marry into the family he had always wanted to be a part of, to have the children he had always dreamed of.

The day Draco had seen the wedding photo spread across the front pages of all the papers had been one of the worst in his life, surpassed only by the day he had seen the news of Harry’s death. He remembered spotting the photo as he walked past a shop, the pain hitting him so hard he nearly bent double in the street. He had apparated straight home, forgetting all about the errands he had been out doing, and had crawled into bed, bottle of firewhiskey in hand.

He’d known when he let Harry go that this was likely, had known that one day he’d hear that Harry had got married, but he hadn’t anticipated how much it would hurt. Knowing that Harry had moved on, while Draco was doomed to think about him every day, loving him without being able to have him. 

Next were the boxes containing the paraphernalia of Harry’s early years of parenthood; endless tiny baby grows and socks, cuddly toys worn from too much love, well-thumbed picture books. Draco couldn’t help smiling through his tears, as he imagined Harry with his babies. He remembered the occasional sightings he had caught of Harry the Dad, giggling toddler balanced precariously on his shoulders, chatty children dancing around him as they walked through Diagon Alley. He smiled as he read some of the many Father’s Day cards packed inside the box, heart swelling as he took in proof of how much Harry’s children had loved him. 

However much it hurt Draco to have lost Harry, the thought that he had let Harry experience the joy of raising his children almost made the heartbreak worth it. 

And then all that was left were the boxes Draco had been dreading the most. 

Steeling himself, bracing himself for the pain that was sure to come, he slowly opened the first box labelled _Draco_.

He began with the letters, the letters that had started it all.

Draco had first written to Harry when news of his divorce from Ginny became public, with no agenda but to send Harry his sympathies. He reread that first letter, remembering how he had sat down to write the letter on a whim, not expecting any response to his unusually clumsy words. But Harry had written back, and they had tentatively started up a correspondence, feeling their way slowly into a form of friendship, one letter at a time. 

They were all there, each letter they had exchanged, neatly organised in order, bound together with string. Draco couldn’t believe Harry had kept them all, his heart swelling as he took in the evidence that Harry had still felt something more for Draco, even at that early stage in the rekindling of their relationship. 

Draco put aside the letters, wanting to reread them all when he was less overwhelmed, when he could luxuriate in reading the beginnings of their relationship.

As he pulled the next set of items out of the box, Draco felt his heart break again, the pain ripping through him so forcefully that he felt like he might throw up, struggling to catch his breath as he began to cry in earnest again.

He gently laid out the trappings of the life they had shared. 

The mug he had always used for his morning cup of tea.

The blanket that had lived on Harry’s, and then their, sofa, that they used to wrap themselves in as they watched TV or read on lazy weekends.

The Weasley jumper with the large red H emblazoned on it that Draco had teased Harry about but had often worn when Harry was out, swaddling himself in its soft wool and surrounding himself with the smell of Harry and the feel of home.

The key that Harry had given Draco when they had been seeing each other for six months, reasoning that it was silly for Harry to have to let him in each time. A key to the door that had become their front door when Draco moved in. 

The painting of a beach that they had bought on their first holiday together, the first joint purchase for their home. It had hung above the fireplace in their bedroom, one of the first things Draco would see every day as he roused from sleep, Harry’s warm and heavy body draped over his. 

Draco cried and cried as the realisation sunk in that he would never have that again. 

Never again would he be woken by Harry pressing gentle teasing kisses against his neck, just the feel of Harry’s breath against his skin enough to send lust pouring through his body.

Never again would he share a cup of tea with a groggy, sleep tousled Harry, moving around each other as if in a choreographed dance as they got ready for their days.

Never again would he come home to the sound of Harry singing in the kitchen as he prepared them a delicious dinner.

Never again would he fall asleep wrapped tightly in Harry’s embrace.

Draco sobbed until his sleeves were soaked through from mopping up tears, until he could hardly breathe and his head swam. 

He thought he’d accepted that he wouldn’t have those things anymore when Harry had broken up with him, when Harry had suggested that maybe Draco should move out of their house and find his own flat. 

But he hadn’t.

He’d always hoped that Harry might one day come back to him. They’d already found their way back to each other once, surely they could do it again.

But now Harry was gone, and he was never coming back to Draco.

Draco didn’t understand, couldn’t make sense of it all.

Harry had left him, so why had he given Draco a key to his vault, a vault that contained perfectly preserved memories of their time together? Was he cruel enough to try and rub in the fact that he didn’t love Draco anymore? That didn’t seem like Harry, but their break up had also been very uncharacteristic too. Harry was usually direct, blunt, unable to hide his feelings, but he had suddenly withdrawn from Draco, face shuttered, refusing to share what had changed. He’d never given Draco a reason for their breakup. 

And now he was dead, and Draco would never know. Would just have to live with the memories of what they’d had. 

Head throbbing from too much crying, Draco shakily began to pack up the belongings strewn across the floor of the vault. He took his time, taking in everything, inhaling Harry’s smell from his t-shirt one last time, gently packing away the remnants of Harry’s life, of the life Draco had shared with him.

Just when he thought he was done, as he was preparing himself to leave the vault, he caught sight of a letter lying on the floor that he had somehow missed when he first looked around. 

Draco picked it up, heart beginning to pound in his chest as he read the name on the front of the envelope.

There, in Harry’s messy writing, was his name. _Draco_. 

With shaking hands he opened the letter and began to read, heart breaking and tears falling once again as he took in the letter’s contents.

_My darling Draco,_

_If you are reading this, then you must have gone to get the key to my vault. I know what you’re like, you’re probably thinking I made a mistake in leaving it to you - after all, I broke up with you._

_But I want you to know, breaking up with you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done._

_It’s the biggest regret of my life._

_I thought I was doing the right thing._

_Maybe you hate me now, maybe you won’t even read any more of this letter. Hell, maybe you won’t even go and get the key, and so you’ll never even know I wrote to you._

_But I have to explain myself. I can’t die knowing that you hate me, knowing that you think I don’t love you._

_Do you remember that day I fainted at work?_

_The Healers had already finished examining me when you arrived, and I told you it was just overwork, that I just needed to take it easier for a bit._

_Well. I wasn’t completely lying, not that that makes it any better. I did need to take it easier, but it was more serious than just exhaustion._

_Turns out that being a Horcrux for so long had taken its toll on my body, and well, my body just wasn’t coping any more. It was worn out. My organs were struggling to function._

_I was going to tell you, but then I just couldn’t find the words. I didn’t want to upset you. I can’t bear it when you’re sad._

_So I lied, and snuck off to see the Healers when you thought I was at work._

_And they said it was fatal, that there was nothing they could do._

_And I didn’t want to condemn you to spending weeks, months, years, however long it took, looking after me as I got sicker. You have so much more to give the world, I didn’t want you to give it all up to stay with me, and I know you would have._

_So I broke up with you, and it broke my heart._

_The day you left was the worst day of my life._

_The house isn’t right without you here, Draco._

_I’m getting worse, and I know I don’t have long left. I’m so sorry you’ve had to find this all out this way, that I couldn’t say goodbye to you properly._

_I know I have no right to ask for anything from you, but could you please give the children the boxes labelled with their names?_

_The rest of the boxes are yours to do with what you will. Keep it, throw it all away, leave it in the vault, it’s up to you._

_I hope the boxes with your name can remind you of the good times we had. Please at least keep the jumper, if you can. I loved seeing you wear it. It always looked better on you anyway._

_I really hope you can forgive me, Draco._

_I love you._

_I will always love you._

_Yours, forever,_

_Harry._

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Draco 💔💔💔
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, and I'm sorry if I broke your heart! 
> 
> Come and yell at me on Tumblr: [MalenkayaCherepakha](https://malenkayacherepakha.tumblr.com/)


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